


A heart of stone

by Tipofmytongue



Series: A heart of stone [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Crimes & Criminals, Despair, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Love, M/M, Romance, Self-Acceptance, Sex, Shame, Therapy, holmescest, mylock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:54:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27425275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipofmytongue/pseuds/Tipofmytongue
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is struggling with the aftermath of the events at Sherrinford, and at the same time long buried feelings about his baby brother start to surface. Being Mycroft Holmes he does the only reasonable thing: He hires a therapist to help him get rid of those feelings. But will it help?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Series: A heart of stone [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086719
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24





	A heart of stone

Mycroft loathed Christmas. He loathed the feigned happiness they were supposed to display. The moronic presents given with so little care, unwrapped in front of a fireplace which were lit for no reason, making the house too warm and dry. He sat in the sofa fingering with a crystal glass, sipping its content slowly while watching Mummy and Father fuzz about the little child who were too little yet to know how horrible Christmas was. John was unwrapping presents with his daughter and Sherlock... his brother was sitting on the other side of the same sofa, also sipping a glass of fine whiskey.  
«Is this hell to be over with any time soon? I have an important meeting regarding the new Asian treaty.» Mycroft uttered miserably and looked at his pocketwatch, not to check the time, but to demonstratively signal that he wanted to leave.  
«Shush now, Mycroft. This is the first time we are together since M...» Mummy looked at John who nodded with encouragement.  
«... since Mary died. It’s nice for little Rosie to have a proper Christmas.»  
«And this includes me, why?» Mycroft asked dryly.  
But Sherlock cut the conversation in half.  
«Let it rest, Mycroft.»  
And the others returned to give Rosie the attention she craved.  
«Since when did you become such a fan of the holidays?» Mycroft asked his brother coolly.  
«I hate it. It’s a time for people with kids or for people who are in love -..»  
Sherlock stopped himself, as if he had been supposed to say something more. Mycroft looked at his brother. In the flaming light from the annoying fireplace, Mycroft saw his brother’s eyes ignited, as if lit with passion. But then Sherlock shifted his head and the moment had passed.

Three hours and four glasses of whisky later, the brothers, John and Rosie were ready to head back to London. John was being polite, thanking Mummy for the lovely dinner and Father for the pleasent celebration. Mycroft tiptoed, eager to leave.  
«Here, brother mine. Your coat.» Sherlock said, and handed his coat to him. As Mycroft grabbed it, their hands touched. Just a little touch, fingers against fingers, but it was enough. Mycroft felt electricity soar through him, he could even feel the tension in the air between them, touch it almost. He looked in his brother’s eyes, but once again the moment had passed as quickly as it had arisen.  
Sherlock kissed Mummy goodbye, as did Mycroft. She looked at her sons pleadingly:  
«My sweet, amazing boys. You two are very special. I love you with all my heart.»  
«Really, not just half your heart?» Sherlock replied sarcastically and Mycroft chuckled to himself. The chuckle did not, he noticed, pass unnoticed by his brother.  
«No. Sherlock. I love you with all my heart. You are my boys. And I see that you aren’t happy. All I want is for you to be happy. So please, whatever you do this next year, promise me that you will also search for happiness, okay?»  
«Sure, I’ll check if it’s in my drawer somewhere.» Sherlock said, and again Mycroft had to laugh a little at is baby brother.

Then Sherrinford happened.

***

Mycroft was finally coming to his senses. He was in a cell somewhere, but alive somehow. Wasn’t Sherlock supposed to shoot him? No. He hadn’t done that. Mycroft had been sure Sherlock would pull the trigger. No way he would’ve let John take that bullet. His head was throbbing. But no, he’d turned the gun towards his own head. No! What had happened?! Sherlock! Was he dead? Mycroft couldn’t remember a single thing. He started pounding the walls of the cell, a cell he now realised belonged to Eurus, he was captivated and his little brother was in danger, perhaps even dead. Mycroft’s heart started beating faster, so incredibly fast, his palms were sweaty and sweat also dripped from his forehead. He was having a panic attack, he recognized it from that one time several years ago, when he had learned that Sherlock had been shot. But he was Mycroft, he knew that this was a moment where mind over matter was essential to secure his survival. Faint, Mycroft. Now. Faint. Faint. Sherlock is alive, I can feel it, he thought. Now, faint.

***

He woke up in a hospital bed. An IV was attached to his arm and there were someone standing next to his bed. Greg Lestrade.  
«There you are.» he said with his typically annoying cheerful voice.  
«Sherlock...» Mycroft muttered.  
«Listen, you’ve been asleep for several hours, you were found in a cell, dehydrated and exhausted.»  
«Sherlock...» Mycroft muttered again as the sleepiness started leaving his body.  
«Sherlock -..» Greg replied, but was cut off by a voice behind him.  
«... is right here.» the voice of his little brother said.  
«My god, you’re alive!» Mycroft cried out and saw how both his brother and the DI was shocked to hear him express so much emotion. Mycroft couldn’t help it, he had been so afraid that Eurus had taken their brother’s life... it would have been Mycroft’s fault.  
«I’ve got it from here, thank you, Greg.» Sherlock smiled and bid the DI farewell.  
Sherlock pulled up a chair and sat down next to the hospital bed.  
«Can I get you anything, brother mine?» he asked.  
«Water perhaps.» Mycroft replied and Sherlock obliged.  
«I sent Lestrade to check on you, but it didn’t feel right. I know how you are feeling and I wanted to come to nip that feeling in the bud before you could let it be carried away and do unneccessary damage.»  
«What..?»  
«This was not your fault. Do you hear me, brother mine? This was not your fault.» Sherlock said.  
What had happened to his brother? Where did all this compassion come from?  
«It was though. It was all my fault.»  
«The fact that people are imbesile enough to not take orders does not make this your fault. Either you agree or I’m not giving you this glass of water.» Sherlock smirked.  
«Fine.» Mycroft sat up to take it and once again their hands touched. It was the same fire, the same electricity he’d felt during Christmas day at their parents’ house. Could Sherlock tell too, or was it only Mycroft who could feel it? This time he didn’t want to look at his little brother. He knew what this was and it was not something he was going to pursue. He’d had strange feelings regarding Sherlock since the latter had exited puberty, protective feelings, exciting feelings, like there was no one else in this entire world that mattered, but also because of those weird feelings which he didn’t want to dwell upon, he’d kept a solid distance to him. But now, here they were, and electricity was soaring through his body because of a little glass of water and his brother’s proximity.  
«I wanted to talk to you about something.» Sherlock said with a serious tone and Mycroft’s heart pounded harder, so hard and fast he was afraid it could be heard out loud. Sherlock had to notice how his jugular artery was dialated and pulsating in his neck, and the redness he felt creep thoughout his face. This was not okay. He knew now what this was, and it was wrong on every level.  
«Yes?» Mycroft replied, scared that he had been deduced to shreads and that their brotherly relationship was ending right now, because of his own unbrotherly feelings.  
«I wondered if you would accompany me sometimes. To Sherrinford.»  
«Really?» Mycroft exhaled with relief, probably a bit more obvious than he intended.  
«Yes. I want to see my sister from time to time. Play some music with her. If that is okay with you.»  
«Why though? You know how dangerous she is.»  
«No, enlighten me.» Sherlock joked and they laughed together, already being able to look at the past events with some humour - however dark it all was.  
«No, really, Mycroft -..» Mycroft’s heart skipped a beat when he heard his brother’s beautiful lips - oh god no, stop - say his name with such tenderness. No, stop.  
«... She did save my life.» Sherlock finished.  
At this Mycroft looked at him, not understanding what he had meant.  
«You know the Moriarty movie-thingy. She released it the moment I was about to head to Europe to die. She saved me. And she did so knowingly.»  
«You believe so?» Mycroft had never really thought about that.  
«Coincidences. The universe is rarely so lazy.» Sherlock smiled.  
«That’s my line, brother.»  
«Anyway. I just wanted to be able to see her from time to time. I’ll let you rest.» Sherlock said and got up from the chair. As he turned to walk out the door Mycroft called after him.  
«Brother mine?»  
«Yes?»  
«I would never have let anything happen to you in Europe. I had it all planned. I would have come for you. I always do.»  
At this Sherlock smiled profoundly, but he didn’t say anything, just looked into his brother’s eyes for a short moment before he turned on his heel and was gone.

***

It took some time, but life soon seemed to be back to normal. Except that nothing was normal anymore. The only times Mycroft dared to spend time with his brother was at the Sherrinford visits and he often brought their parents along with them as the thought of spending two hours on a helicopter alone with Sherlock was too much for him. The feelings, those strange and nasty feelings he experienced regarding Sherlock, kept lurking underneath the surface of his being all the time. Having being able to cope with them for half a life time, they now seemed to be blossoming. Only this flower could never see the light of day. Everyone around him would be appalled if they found out, his brother most of all. Mycroft was ashamed of himself, ashamed of the images in his head that kept popping up at inconvenient times. In the middle of a meeting with Her Majesty Herself he once got a flash of making love to his brother on the futon the Queen was sitting on, making him feign a sudden migraine and asked to be excused from the meeting. Being who he was, the most powerful man in Britian, he knew that he was probably the only person who could finish a meeting with the Queen on his terms and not hers. The feelings had gotten completely out of hand so he stayed away from Sherlock as much as he could, no matter how much it hurt him. But it would hurt his brother even more and he would never let anything happen to his baby brother. Not ever.

That’s why it was a nervous man who sat behind his desk in his basement office at the government this Friday afternoon waiting for the clock to turn five. The intercom buzzed and Anthea’s voice rang through it.  
«Diplomat Rivera is here for you, sir.» she said.  
«Send him in.» Mycroft replied and straighened up in his chair. He knew how intimidating he looked sitting behind the desk, which is why he found it comically pathetic that he, being who he was, could feel so small and insecure. The door opened and in entered the man. Anthea stood behind him and asked it they needed anything to drink, but Mycroft declined.  
«Please sit.» he said and the man sat.  
«So. Why did I have to pretend to be a diplomat?»  
Mycroft smiled coolly.  
«You are now in the office of the informal head of the British military, the British Government and the British Law Enforcement. Being who I am is not complementary with the services you provide. You will therefore speak to no one about our meetings, are we clear - doctor Rivera?»  
«Wow. Yes. Of course. It falls under doctor/patient confide -  
«These meetings don’t happen. You don’t write reports. You don’t speak of them. You are paid a fair amount of money for them, but they do not happen. Again. Are we clear?»  
«Yes, absolutely, sir. But if we are to make progress here we need to be on the same turf, so to speak. Which means, we talk to one another without being seperated by that frankly scary desk of yours.»  
«Fine.»  
Mycroft stood reluctantly up and placed himself on the couch in the corner of his office. Dr. Rivera dragged his chair to face him.  
«So. Mycroft. Talk to me.»  
«You know, dr. Rivera -..»  
«Andrew. Let’s be comfortable.»  
Mycroft twitched his nose. He hated being on first name basis with anyone. It felt vulnerable and far from comfortable. But that was why he’d summoned the man after all. Because he needed help. He’d tried to deal with his problems alone, but he had failed. Being the smartest man in Britian wasn’t very helpful in this case.  
«You are the best in your field, Dr. Riv - Andrew. I’ve researched you. You treat people with deviating sexual preferences. And you help people.»  
«Yes, I do.»  
«I need your help. Lately... No, that’s a lie. For many years, but perhaps more actively lately, I’ve been having feelings about someone inapproperiate. I can’t shake the feelings off and the more I try not to think about it, the more I feel and it’s not... it’s not only sex, I believe the feelings I have are feelings of love. But I’ve spent my entire life trying to avoid such silly things as I generally despise people, but this is... I believe this is the real thing and it eats me up from the inside out.»  
Dr. Rivera was silent for a while, it was probably a tactic, some kind of way to make his client think further about what he’d just said.  
«May I ask who... or what... you have feelings for?»  
«Pardon me?»  
«One can develop feelings for many things. I have clients being in love with animals, trees, cars...»  
«By god, no. No. Listen. I’m homosexual in the simplest form. I have no interest in women and I’ve been with men all my life. No trees or cars.»  
«Good. So you feel like it’s inapproperiate to have feelings for men?»  
«No! I’m not ashamed of who I am.»  
«Then can you tell me what it is you feel is inapproperiate with the feelings that you experience?»  
Mycroft sighed loudly, somehow he wanted to inaudibly express for the doctor that he was well aware of how wrong his feelings were.  
«I am ashamed that I have romantic feelings for my baby brother.» Mycroft shifted in his chair. He’d never said these things out loud before. He was embarrased, almost petrified. But saying it out loud somehow felt like a relief too. It made it all real.  
Again, the deafning silence until Dr. Rivera spoke.  
«So, your baby brother, he is much too young? Teenager? Younger?»  
«No? What do you..? No! Christ. No! He’s a grown man.»  
«Oh. Okay. Well. Listen, Mycroft. I researched you too before I came. I know you are concidered one of the smartest men in our country, there was this interview with you where I read that you are chairman of the British Mensa.»  
«Your point being?»  
«You should be able to figure this out ourself.»  
Mycroft felt annoyed. The whole reason he’d asked this moronic sandbag of a doctor to come was because he couldn’t figure how to stop these feelings. Was he trying to get fired during their first session?  
«Listen.» Dr. Rivera said again, before Mycroft could express how very dissatisfied he was with this doctor. «As I told you, I have all kinds of clients. People falling for all kinds of things. You know what I say to them? If acting on your feelings doesn’t hurt anyone, then act on them.»  
Mycroft couldn’t believe his own ears. Was this doctor promoting incest?  
«I’m a controversial man. But you knew that. That’s why you chose me to be your therapist. Sure, there are laws, but those laws aren’t for you. They are there to protect people from negative social control, to prevent siblings having kids with severe and fatal disabilities. They are not there because two grown men can’t engage in a romantic relationship if that’s what their feelings have led them to.»  
Mycroft didn’t know what to say, he was completely shocked into silence.  
«Feelings like these don’t just develop out from thin air. Not for grown-ups. They are there because there is a fundamental reason for them to exist. They thrive on possibilities.»  
With the promise of coming back the next week, «diplomat» Rivera stood up, shook Mycroft’s hand and said as he was about to exit:  
«Happiness is not dangerous, Mycroft Holmes. It actually feels fucking great.»

Mycroft had cancelled all his meetings that evening and left for his home to ponder on the conversation he’d had with the doctor. Somehow he felt lighter, but at the same time he was terrified. He’d never, not even in his fantasies - which were being more and more vivid for each passing day - considered the outcome of actually acting on the feelings. He’d fantasied about Sherlock, about his naked body under his own hands, his torso, his firm buttocks, his stiff cock and his beautiful face. But they had been cloudy fantasies, just the two of them existing in a non-existing place. The possibility of actually acting on his feelings... no, he couldn’t. Could he? He knew his brother well, but they’d never discussed his sexuality. Mycroft had hinted at it during that embarrassing visit to Buckingham palace where he’d for the first time ever had glimpsed his brother’s arse. Felt a tiny tingeling sensation in his own groin. But once again, shoveled it to the back of his mind, unwrapping it in silence later in his own private house. But the Irene Adler case had changed Sherlock. She’d done something to him, the change was clear. So even though Sherlock in theory would have been inclined to unbrotherlig affairs with him, he wouldn’t, because he didn’t seem to be homosexual. But again... Mycroft couldn’t know. He could only assume. Everyone had said Sherlock and John would be a good match, but nothing had ever happened there, so if Sherlock really was homosexual, he’d have seduced John already, wouldn’t he? Mycroft hated this. He hated not knowing. He thrived on having control, he basically controlled the entire country, but this was unfamiliar territory. «If acting on your feelings doesn’t hurt anyone, then act on them.» The therapist had really meant that. But it could hurt Sherlock to learn that his own brother was a pervert. It could hurt them forever. But after all Sherlock had endured Mycroft wouldn’t want to cause him any more pain.

As he sat in these toughts he heard the phone ring. He expected it to be Anthea calling him in to an urgent meeting, but instead the display said John Watson. Why on earth would John call at this hour? Mycroft picked up and answered in his usual cool voice.

«Yes?»  
«It’s Sherlock! He’s gone. We believe he’s been kidnapped.»

And with those words Mycroft’s whole world crumbled into pieces.

***

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run this fast. Run in all, for that matter. His long legs took him up several steps at once as he rushed up the stairs to Baker Street, where he came into what was nothing but pure chaos. DI Lestrade was shrieking things on the phone, Mrs. Hudson sat on the sofa, crying and shaking, and John was pacing back and forth, occationally kicking at things. As Mycroft entered the room they all went silent and turned to him. They probably believed he would come to a rescue, but then he saw their shocked faces, and he immediately understood why. The mastodont Mycroft, the steady mountain that he usually was were nowhere present. His shirt wasn’t buttoned properly nor tucked into his trousers, his shoe laces was untied and he was panting and sweating. Mycroft Holmes had, for the first time in his life, lost appearances. It wasn’t until Mrs. Hudson stood up from the sofa and examined him he understood how badly in shape he was. «We will find him, Mycroft. I’ll get you some tea, my sweet.»  
She had never been this nice to him before. Maybe did his wreck of an appearance make her realise how much he cared for his little brother. Mrs. Hudson’s small act of affection had somehow turned his brain back on, because he straightened up, buttoned his shirt and said:  
«Now. Where are we?»  
«He didn’t come home last night. But you know, he’s Sherlock. But this evening I found a note in the mail saying that he was taken and would not be returned unless we gave the kidnappers money. 20 000 pounds.»  
«Last night? Why in the name of hell didn’t you call me sooner?» Mycroft spat, literally sending projectiles of saliva across the room.  
«Because Sherlock is Sherlock!»  
«You can be a shortsighted peanut sometimes, Dr. Watson. Let me see the note. I suppose you still have that?»  
He could see Dr. Watson struggling with not lashing back, but he seemed to control his temper this time. Lestrade gave Mycroft a note, secured in a plastic folder.  
«Here. John’s obviously touched it, but no one else has.»  
«Thank you, Greg.» Mycroft said, feeling calmer in the presence of the DI. Mycroft studied the paper closely, tuning out the rest of the world, deducing the way only he and Sherlock knew how.  
«Pretty normal piece of paper.» Dr. Watson said after Mycroft had looked at it for a while. «Not much to go on, I’m afraid.»  
«Really?» Mycroft said and smiled, knowingly, the most wicked smile he could master, a smile he knew could make entire states shiver in their pants.  
«The paper itself is thicker than normal copy paper, but it’s still not special enough to give us much to go on.» He glansed at Dr. Watson, waiting for him to triumph, but continued with a hint of mocking in his tone:  
«However. The writing is more interesting. It’s written with Ironshizuku ink, a Japanese ink used in fountain pens. If you also take a look at the edges of all the letters, they are written in the same way as one writes Japanese letters, more precicely Kanji letters. There is no mistake. With this information we can deduce two very essential elements: The kidnappers are Japanese. The kidnappers don’t need the money asked for.» Mycroft took a deep breath and looked at his little crowd.  
«God, you two are exactly the same.» Lestrade said, looking stunned.  
«Yes, they are.» Mrs. Hudson smiled at him.  
«Why do you think they don’t need the money?» John asked.  
«Even you can’t be this daft, Dr. Watson? Whoever writes with a fountain pen using this ink doesn’t need 20 000 pounds. And that being said, how many kidnappers go through all that for 20 000 pounds?»  
He was obviously right, but that made the case ever trickier. They had targeted Sherlock for a very spesific reason, and it was not the money. Why though? Why? As if some invisible spirit had heard his toughts, his phone vibrated and the display showed an unknown number. He answered and put it on loudspeaker.  
«Yes?»  
«Mycroft Holmes?»  
«Yes.»  
«We have your brother.»  
«I assumed as much.»  
«Go to your office.»  
«Why?»  
«There you will find information.»  
«And what should I do with the information?»  
«You will know. And hurry. Your precious brother won’t live for long.»  
They hung up.  
Mycroft felt as if his guts had shifted and moved up to his throat. His body felt exactly like it had when he had found himself trapped in the cell at Sherrinford, not knowing if Sherlock was dead or alive. Mind over matter.  
«Mind over matter.» he whispered.  
«What was that?» Dr. Watson asked. «Are we going or what?»  
«Yes. Yes.» And they all rushed into the garages in the back yard where Mrs. Hudson had her car parked, and within fifteen minutes they found themselves in the basement that lead into Mycroft’s office.

«Bit gloomy, isn’t it?» Mrs. Hudson whispered to Lestrade as they entered. Mycroft pretended not to hear it. «I bet it’s like this so that he can appear more intimidating than he really is.»  
«He is quite intimidating, though, isn’t he?» Lestrade replied. Mycroft smiled weakly at this. As the door closed behind them, Mycroft’s phone vibrated. A link to an internet address had been sent as a text message - also from a secret number. He logged onto his computer and hooked it up to the big screen he could pull down in front of one of the walls. The internet address led them to a black screen. Until it wasn’t black anymore. There was Sherlock, sat on the floor of some dusty loft, a masked man pointing a gun at his head. The sun was shining weakly bathing the left side of his face.  
«Sherlock!» they all screamed at the same time. Mycroft felt his chest tightening. He wanted to murder the hostage takers with his bare hands, peel off their skin and boil them in hot sirup.  
Then the hostage started talking.  
«I am telling you what they have told me to tell you. I am asking you, brother, to remember the meeting you had several months ago, during Christmas. Do you remember? This is a one-way communication, so you can’t reply, obviously, but you should have caught up by now.»  
The screen went black again. Mycroft thought back to the holidays, he always had many meetings, but... oh. Of course.  
«The new Asian treaty. Fuck my arse.»  
The three others jumped at this unusial profanity from the always so tight man he knew he was. It almost made him smile, hadn’t the situation been so severe. The treaty was good for everyone. It was a trade deal focused on the environmental friendly progress within trade between the UK and three Asian countries: South Korea, China and... Japan. It was one of the most important trade deals made in a century, it would make the green, sustainable economy grow, but would put an end to the existence of some companies that built dams where large Asian forests grew, hence destroying trees, wildlife and whole eco systems. Mycroft had made sure Britian wouldn’t trade with companies like that any longer.  
«I know who they are. They have to be representatives from Shi Co. They’ve played a major part in demolishing 43 000 kilometres of Asian forests. I’ve ensured their cessation. I believe this is their revenge.»  
The three others looked at him with amusement.  
«I didn’t know you did things of that... character. I must say, Mycroft Holmes, you are growing on me.» Mrs. Hudson said and beamed at him. Mycroft couldn’t believe how quickly she’d changed her opinion about him. Maybe she could tell how he really was feeling...?  
The black screen behind them came to life again. Sherlock sat there, looking at them with a puzzling stare. He looked scared, but calm.  
«Brother, you have figured out by now what this is about. I’m told that you are either to make the deal die or I die. Soon appearently. You have one hour.» His eyes flickered. Mycroft felt sick to his bone, wanted to jump in through the screen and rip the Japanese hostage takers apart.  
«Can I say something?» Sherlock asked the hostage takers. «I’m probably going to be killed soon, so I would like to send up a prayer, if that is all right.»  
The man with the gun hit Sherlock in the head. The four people in Mycroft’s office jumped in anger, agony and pure rage. Dr. Watson screamed, Mrs. Hudson cried and Lestrade banged his fists into a wall. Mycroft felt the signs of a panic attack creep up on him, his heart rate increased and his hands started sweating.  
«Mind over matter.» he whispered again.  
Sherlock on-screen placed himself steadily and formed his hands into an inverted «V».  
«Dear God. I lay my heart in your hands. Caring is not an advantage. But I lay my heart in your hands.»  
Mycroft watched his brother, heard voices around him say things his brain decided to ignore, the same way he tried to ignore his increasing heart rate.  
«... I lay my heart in your hands. Caring is not an advantage. But I lay my heart...»  
«My god, he’s become religious.» Dr. Watson said and took a step closer in front of the screen. Mycroft felt his insides being ripped by anger of how extremely stupid this little man could be. He lashed forward and and threw the doctor aside with force.  
«No, you imbesile dim-witted midget! He’s not religious, for christ’s sake!» And Mycroft understood. He picked up his phone, tapped speed-dial number 2 and practically screamed into the phone:  
«Units Angel, Balaklava, Candy, Dino, Eagle and Fritz to Leytonstone asap. Loft. North-east. Units Gold, Harris, Indigo, Java, Kimberly and Lamb to Leytonstone asap. Exit route A12 and every street aligned, no one in, no one out.»  
He put the phone on his desk, but didn’t hang up. Dr. Watson looked at him with anger in his eyes, but Mycroft didn’t bother one bit. They all gathered around the phone, as if Mycroft’s movements worked like magnets on the other three.  
«What just - ?» Dr. Watson tried to ask. Mycroft cut him off and kept staring at the phone: «Silence.»  
Heart beat.  
Heart beat.  
Heart beat.  
Heart beat-heart beat.  
Heart beat.  
Heart beat.  
Heart beat.  
Then:  
«Mr. Holmes, sir?»  
«Yes?»  
«Mr. Holmes is secure, sir.»  
Mycroft felt his entire body give in. His knees failed him and he would have crashed into his own desk if he hadn’t been caught by Mrs. Hudson who looked at him, starts shimmering in her old and wise, but still so young and fierce eyes:  
«You did it, sweet boy.» she said and kissed him on the cheek.

***

The entire London-based force of both MI5 and MI6 had participated in the search which had taken them less than three minutes thanks to Mycroft’s descriptions. They had cut off one of the Japanese men, trying to escape and then brought in alive at Mycroft’s orders, but the rest of them had been killed on scene - also on Mycroft’s orders. The remaining survivor would be interrogated in the very best of ways and would soon wish he had died with his friends.  
But Mycroft had left that to be handled by others. He was now placed in a chair next to a hospital bed in which his brother lay. He was unconcious as the culprits appearently had injected him with some kind of drug that the doctors at St. Bart’s still didn’t know exactly what was, but they were confident that Sherlock would recover soon.  
Mycroft looked calmly down at his baby brother and felt waves of affection crushing down upon his chest, waves after waves, like a storm building up inside of him. He loved his brother so dearly, so passionately, there was no way he would ever be able to keep his distance from him again, and even if Sherlock probably did not feel for his brother the same way, Mycroft would at least be able to spend time with him, be his big brother in the very best way he could, and that was worth something.  
There was a creak in the door behind him and Mrs. Hudson came in with a large bouqet of purple flowers.  
«I know he likes his plum shirt so much, so I wanted to give him matching flowers.» she said and placed them on the table next to the bed, where Mycroft’s bouqet of lilacs already blossomed beautifully.  
«Yes, that’s a nice shirt.» Mycroft replied, still lost in his deep toughts.  
«Especially on Sherlock, wouldn’t you say?» Mrs. Hudson said and Mycroft was pulled back to reality and the room in which he currently sat together with the old lady.  
«Pardon me?»  
«You love him, don’t you, Mycroft?»  
Mycroft felt his heart skip a beat. Again. Like it had done so many times.  
«Yes, of course, he’s my brother.» he parried.  
«It’s okay, you know. There is no one like the two of you. It’s you and it’s him. I’m saying, it’s alright. Lovely even.» she said and squeezed his arm and he felt gratitude towards the old lady who had turned out to be so much more than a housekeeper.  
«Well, I better go, he’s not going to wake up for some time anyway, the doctors told me.» she said and stood up. «Are you staying?» she asked.  
«Yes, and then I’m taking him home.»  
«Lovely. By the way, I have a little stain on my... you know, from back when my husband did the drug thingy. And I really want to go to Los Angeles one day, rent a car and smoke some... never mind. But I can’t unless..»  
«I’ll take care of it, Martha.» Mycroft said with a smile that almost leapt into a laugh.  
«You are the opposite of a reptile, you know, Mycroft. He’ll be lucky to have you.»  
And then she left.

Mycroft sat at his brother’s bedside for several hours. He held meetings online, wrote important e-mails, all the while watching over Sherlock, who still hadn’t woken up. Dr. Watson and Lestrade came after some time and John had offered to stay, but the tension between him and Mycroft was still a too present, so Mycroft declined, gave him a half-arsed sorry for his behaviour during the heat of the moment and promised to contact him as soon as Sherlock woke up.

After even more hours Sherlock finally opened his eyes. The room was dark, only lit up by the computer screen which light fell over Mycroft’s face.  
«Mycroft...»  
«Brother mine.»  
«You’re here.»  
«Yes.»  
«Looks like the tables have turned.»  
«Indeed, brother mine.»  
«You look like hell.»  
«Yes, you’ve been out for almost 24 hours now.»  
«But why do you look like hell because I’ve been out?»  
«Deductions, brother mine. Or did they fry your brain in the prosess?»  
«You’ve been here all this time.»  
Mycroft smiled at him. Sherlock was groggy, but still really beautiful.  
«I’m freezing.»  
Mycroft moved closer to his brother and saw indeed that his brother was shaking.  
«Brother mine, do you want to come home with me? I can install you in my bedroom, where I have a fireplace and can make it much warmer than in this horrid hospital.»  
«Yes, please.»

An hour later, having persuaded the doctors at St. Bart’s that Mycroft was more than capable of taking care of his brother now that the effect of the drugs, apart from the coldness, had worn off. He was given a list of duties in regards to his brother’s needs, like painkillers he needed to administer, and a strict plan for giving him meals and fluids.  
Sherlock was now placed in Mycroft’s master bed after a long and hot shower. Mycroft had showered after him, felt the damp of his brother still attached to the walls. The fire was lit and Sherlock was sleeping again. Mycroft found a chair and placed himself with his back to the fireplace, facing his sleeping sibling. The love he felt for the gorgeous man now lying in his bed was enormous. He closed his eyes and let himself indulge in a fantasy of Sherlock inviting him to his bed to make love. He thought of how he would undress his brother, down to his briefs and then release the magic within. Feel his penis in his hands, his mouth, his behind. Oh, how he craved his little brother this way. He thought of the words of Dr. Andrew Rivera again. «If acting on your feelings doesn’t hurt anyone, then act on them.» How could he, though? How could he?  
«Mycroft?»  
He was ripped back to reality by the raspy shivering voice of his brother.  
«Yes, brother dear?»  
«I’m still very cold.»  
«I can hear that. Do you want an extra duvet, blanket, heating bottle perhaps?»  
«No. You. Lay next to me.»  
«W-what?»  
«Lay next to me.» Sherlock said again, drunk on sleep.  
Mycroft’s heart raced in record breaking speed. He could feel every nerve as if they were all exposed and raw. Goosebumps filled his entire body despite the fact that the room was really warm from the fire in the fireplace.  
«Lay next to me, brother mine.» Sherlock said again. Mycroft obliged. Dressed only in trousers and a shirt after the shower he’d taken, he lay down as he was, not caring if he would be too hot. It was all about his brother now.  
«Hold me.» Sherlock whispered and Mycroft, once again, obliged. He put his hands around the bare upper body of his brother, felt his tight muscles and smooth skin. How he had longed for this. Longed to feel his brother underneath his own trembling hands. And then it happened, what should not happen: Mycroft felt his cock swell. Lying here next to his brother, the man he loved and desired so deeply, had stirred him in his core and his body responded exactly as bodies do in these situations. Mycroft tried to bend his legs in an angle that made sure the erection didn’t poke Sherlock in the back, but it was pointless. The downside of having a large package was that it was impossible to hide, and as his cock swelled even more, he felt it touch Sherlock’s lower back. It was mortifying. Mycroft prepared to be kicked out of the bed, even the house. This was the end of their relationship as he knew it. Sherlock would never forgive him.  
But Sherlock seemed to be drifting back into sleep and hadn’t noticed what had happened. Mycroft dared a little touch at his chin and whispered softly:  
«I love you, brother mine.»  
And half sleeping came a reply that made Mycroft cringe:  
«I wish you weren’t my brother.»  
Then Sherlock fell asleep.

***

Mycroft stood before the fireplace when he heard his brother started waking up. He had fallen asleep in the chair, immediately removing himself from Sherlock’s bed as soon as he felt him getting warmer. The fire had almost died out and Mycroft tried to save it by adding another log.  
«Hi.» he heard behind him. Sherlock was awake for real, then. Mycroft didn’t reply.  
«Is something wrong?» Sherlock asked, a profound worry could be heard in his voice.  
«You said you wish I wasn’t your brother.» Mycroft replied after a while.  
«Either you mean that you really do not care for me, but one can argue that the latest events show that you do. Am I wrong to believe that this is not what you meant then?»  
«You are not wrong.» Sherlock replied and Mycroft tried his best to sound like a man who had control, despite the fact that his insides were boiling with emotion.  
«That leads me to the second interpretation of said sentence. You wish I wasn’t your brother because me being your brother is standing in the way of something you are feeling. Am I correct?»  
«Yes.»  
Sherlock had gotten out of bed now, Mycroft heard the sound of a morning gown being put on, then small, careful and approaching steps. He still didn’t look away from the fireplace.  
«I need to understand why.» Mycroft said, feeling his eyes tearing up and not knowing if it was because of the dancing little fire or because of everything else. Sherlock stood half a step behind him now, facing him directly, but Mycroft couldn’t move.  
«Are you going to reprimand me? One can’t help his feelings.»  
At these words Mycroft turned to finally face his brother.  
«Reprimand you? No, beautiful brother mine, I need to understand how a marvellous creature like yourself, whom I have been in love with since the dawn of time, can have feelings for someone like me?»  
Tears were running slowly down his cheeks now. Sherlock’s beautiful face looked like a safe haven, bathed in the beautfiful light from the fire.  
«Someone like you? There is no one like you, brother. I didn’t understand the feelings I had for a very long time, but then I met Irene Adler. Brain is the new sexy, she told me. And she opened me up mentally in a way I hadn’t experienced before. She had the brains I craved in a partner, but she is a woman. And the more I started thinking about it, the more I let my heart open up for you. And why wouldn’t I? You, ambitous, fiesty, powerful and oh, so beautiful. You have always been my rock, you have saved me from drugs multiple times, you saved me in Serbia, you have saved me through all our horrible Christmas holidays, you can challenge me and actually beat me. But we’re two sides of the same coin, brother. You understood that I led you to Leytonstone...»  
«A heart of stone.»  
«Yes. But mine is not, Mycroft. My heart is bleeding. For you. So yes, I said I wish you weren’t my brother, because all I want is for you to be my lover. But if you hadn’t been my brother, you wouldn’t be my equal. So I guess I’m in the wrong.»  
Mycroft didn’t know what to say. He had pictured Sherlock being his so many times now and here he was - claiming him like this.  
«Sherlock...»  
«Yes?»  
«You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say this. Sherlock...»  
Sherlock took one step closer to his brother. Mycroft could feel the lovely odeur from Sherlock’s perfume. He felt his breath on his skin. He looked down into the deep blue eyes that contained the answer to all the secrets of the universe. So everlastingly beautiful they were. Their lips were close, seperated by nothing but a few inches of air.  
«Sherlock. If we go down this road, there is no going back.»  
«Oh, brother, lover, we are already past the point of no return.»  
And then their lips met and the Mycroft’s world was never again the same.

They stumbled in each other’s feet as they moved towards the bed, full of lust and want and all the positive emotions two men could hold. Refusing to part their lips from one another they fell down onto the bed and fought together to remove Mycroft’s trousers, shirt and finally - his briefs. His cock was already rocket hard and he saw how his brother looked down at it with lust in his eyes.  
«That’s an impressive member, brother dear.» Sherlock said and licked his lips. Mycroft blushed. Even though he’d slept with men before they had never devoured and wanted him like this. It was almost too much for him. He had to pause. Now.  
«Sherlock, wait.»  
He saw Sherlock react with fear, fear that Mycroft had changed his mind. Emotions were so easy to deduce. They had become goldfish, both of them.  
«Slower, lover dear.» Mycroft said. «Come here.»  
And he laid back on the bed and let Sherlock crawl up and put his head on the pillow next to him. They stared at eachother in a way they have never allowed to before.  
«I wanted to slow down. I’m going to bring you to the finish line, my love, but I wanted to talk first.» Mycroft said as a response to Sherlock’s sigh.  
«Listen. Sherlock.» Mycroft placed a hand on Sherlock’s pants, where he felt a large bulge that made his mouth water. Sherlock moaned at the touch.  
«I haven’t been this hard since... no, I haven’t been this hard ever. But before we embark on this journey together, I need to know where we are and where we are heading.»  
«Mycroft, I’m so hard I can barely think.»  
«Poor boy, what are we going to do?» Mycroft replied teasingly and decided the talk could wait. He pushed himself backwards and placed himself perfectly in position to attack his brother’s penis with his mouth. And god, how well it tasted. Mycroft gripped the penis at it’s core, moved his hand up and down all the same time as he sucked at its top, so hard he felt precum wash mix with his own saliva. Sherlock moaned, his body tensed and moved, but Mycroft held him tightly with his other hand while he continued to eat the perfect penis that belonged to his brother. His own cock ached for being touched, sucking his own brother was a turn-on like he had never experienced before. Sherlock moaned louder and louder while Mycroft continued sucking the gorgeous cock. Seconds later Sherlock came. Semen filled Mycroft’s mouth and he sucked and swallowed at the same time, making sure his brother experienced the best orgasm possible.  
«Fucking fuck fuck fuck.» Sherlock said, his breathing rapid and heavy after the shock of the sudden orgasm.  
«Such profanities, my beloved brother.» Mycroft smirked as he climbed back up and placed his head on the pillow next to Sherlock. His own cock was throbbing with lust and a few strokes would be all before he would climax. And as if Sherlock had read his mind, he moved his hand onto Mycroft’s blood red penis, did a miraculous move with his hand and placed a long finger, all from his one hand, at his anus, teasing and playing with his entrance. It was all it took and Mycroft felt his cock empty itself all over Sherlock’s hand while his whole body spasmed, filled with electricity and love for this seven year old younger man beside him.  
«Thank you. That mas really marvellous.» Mycroft said and sat up to clean himself up.  
«No. No cleaning. This moment after is precious, my sweet brother, I don’t want you clean and pure, I want you human.»  
Mycroft had placed himself in Sherlock’s lap. They were spread out on the bed, still naked, covered in dried semen, but warm. Finally warm. Safe.  
«Now we can talk.» Sherlock said while one of his hands was stroking Mycroft’s chest.  
«God damn, you’re hot.» Sherlock supplied.  
«Are you serious?»  
«I find you to be the most beautiful man I’ve ever had the pleasure of sleeping with, laying my eyes on even.» Sherlock said with a cheerful tone.  
«I need some time to understand that you actually mean that, but thank you.»  
«You don’t know how beautiful you are, do you Mycroft? You’re such a posh prick.»  
Mycroft felt content. He noticed a feeling in his chest he’d never felt before, but he wasn’t sure what it was.  
«Let’s do the talking.» Mycroft said. He needed to know what he was in and where they were going.  
«I am forty seven years old, Sherlock. I’ve been alone my entire life and I know how to be lonely. I’ve gotten really good at it. But I need to know what this is and where you want this to end up.»  
«I don’t want it to end. Not anywhere or anytime.» Sherlock replied and Mycroft smiled to himself.  
«Can I be honest with you, brother mine? What happened now is something I’ve dreamt about since forever. I’ve had sex with men before, I’ve tried dating, but there is no one out there except you. It’s always been you, Sherlock. And now that I have you I feel terrified, because what if you leave me? What if you don’t want the same things that I do?»  
«And what is it that you want?»  
«I want you. I want to be your one and only. I love you, my sweet, lovely, perfect brother. I want to be your boyfriend, heck, I wish I could be your husband.»  
Mycroft let out an audible sigh, felt scared, but somehow he knew this was not dangerous. If Sherlock didn’t share his ideas of the future, he would at least have this.  
«... So why did your pulse increase just now?» Sherlock asked.  
«Damn you and your detective skills.»  
«It increased because you’re worried that I don’t want the same things that you do. Then let me assure you, I want the commitment, the love, the life, I want it all with you. I want laws to be bended so that I can show the world that you belong to me. I know, because there are laws, that we will have to live a life in discretion, but if you want me to be your lover, your partner, your boyfriend, then Mycroft, I’m yours.»  
And Mycroft suddenly understood what the feeling inside of him was. He had never felt it before. The feeling he felt inside of him, the feeling that had crept upon him and manifested itself in his nerves, his bones, his flesh and his skin. It was happiness. Mycroft Holmes was happy for the first time in his life. And he started laughing. He laughed and laughed. Mycroft Holmes was happy.

***

Three months had passed. It was october now and the two brothers had endured in all kinds of love-making and they had barely left Mycroft’s house. Mycroft had taken leave for the first time in his career and they spent their days being entangled in bed or walking long walks in Mycroft’s beautiful garden or bickering over boardgames and wine. They were completely in love with one another and persuing their new relationship had only made the love between them stronger.

Sherlock had told John that the drug he’d been given by the kidnappers had paralyzed his arms and that he was in recovery at Mycroft’s house. It had been a stupid lie, but the doctor had also been stupid enough to believe it. Seeing that Mycroft and John had a rather strained relationshop John hadn’t felt the need to come for visits and Sherlock hadn’t invited him either. But one night a about a month ago he’d come unannounced, his worried little face looking up at them through the CCTV at the entrance. The brothers had been entangled on the couch, all clothes already taken off.  
«Aren’t goldfish supposed to be in bowls?» Mycroft had said annoyed.  
«Actually no, in small bowls their intestines will grow faster than the external body and the fish will die a slow and painful death.» Sherlock replied as they both quickly dressed, still panting. Mycroft laughed.  
«Also, Mycroft. He’s my best friend. I know you don’t see eye to eye, but he’s my best friend.»  
«Fine, I’ll behave. Are you going to tell him?»  
«Not yet. Maybe not ever. But not now.»  
They had opened the door, trying their best to hide the fact that they’d just been in the middle of sex.  
«Hi.»  
«Hi John.»  
«Hello Dr. Watson.»  
John entered, Sherlock pretended to struggle with his arms, asking if John could close the door for him.  
«How are you doing? I’m sorry I haven’t been around, but you said you needed time. Getting better, I see.»  
«Well yes, they’re more painful now than paralyzed which is a good thing I guess.»  
Mycroft stood still in the back, trying his best to hide his erection in his black trousers, knowing it would be very much visible through them if John were to slide his look in that direction. He saw Sherlock was struggling with the same thing. Their eyes met for a brief moment, small smiles erupted in the corner of their mouths, they were team Holmes.  
«I’m not disturbing, am I? You seem a little distressed.»  
«Oh no, I just had a workout, I need to do those four times a day if I am to heal properly. Stupid Japan»  
Mycroft chuckled.  
«You can’t blame the entire nation of Japan, brother mine. If I were to murder someone it wouldn’t be Britian’s fault.»  
«Except that it would though, since you are you.»  
Their eyes lingered, probably a second too long, because Mycroft noticed how John’s eyebrows retracted.  
«Anyway, I’ll leave this visit for you to handle, brother. I’ll be in my office.»  
When he closed the door to his office behind him, the erection had finally deflated and he was glad that Dr. Watson’s imagination was so limited.

That was a month ago and this night they were sitting in the big couch together, drinking expensive wine and listening to the classical music of Samuel Barber.  
«I need to get back to Baker Street soon. John will wonder and when he wonders he starts asking stupid questions.»  
«I understand.»  
Mycroft went silent. The music was so powerful and he felt tears pressing behind his eyes. So sentimental he was almost embarrassed.  
«... and you need to get back to work, brother dear. I love you for you and you love your job. You’re not giving up anything for me.»  
Mycroft leaned into his brother and placed his head on his shoulder. For the first time in his life he was truly content. As if his whole being was in balance. The tears he felt, those were tears of joy, bathed in a tiny pond of sorrow over the fact that he would always have to hide his happiness from the people around him.  
«I wish I could marry you.» Sherlock suddenly said, breaking the sounds of Barber’s calm music. Mycroft started coughing, the wine burnt in his throat.  
«I hate this country.» Mycroft replied.  
«Laws aside, brother dear, would you marry me if you could?»  
Mycroft leaned forward and kissed his brother with fierce.  
«I’d marry you right here and now if I could.»  
«Then this, Mycroft, lover, sweetheart, this is our promise, this is our engagement. Right here and now. Will you marry me on our terms?»  
«Yes, god, yes; I will marry you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I love you.»  
«I love you too, Daniel Mycroft Atticus Holmes.»  
They kissed. They were engaged. It was bliss. Knowing it was so easy; also knowing it was very complicated.

***

Sherlock left for Baker Street two days later. Lestrade had asked him for help on a case and then the three months of living in a different world, their own bubble, was over. Mycroft stood in front of the large mirror in his wardrobe and dressed himself for the first day back at his job in three months. Anthea would arrive with a car in fifteen minutes. He was indeed looking forward to going back. He looked at the ring on his middle finger, simple, but pure, their secret token of their engagement. Last night they had spoken thouroughly about how they would involve the people around them. Mrs. Hudson had already guessed and was on board. It was more complicated regarding Dr. Watson and DI Lestrade. These were things they didn’t discuss and there was no way of knowing how they would react. But they also knew that living in hiding their whole life was not an option. Sherlock had, half joking and half serious, asked if Mycroft could have the Queen bend the laws for them. Then there were their parents. The last thing Mummy had said before they left last Christmas was that she wanted her sons to be happy. Now they were happy. But how would their mother and father react to the fact that their sons’ happiness was a result of an incesteous relationship? But nontheless, they would have to tell them too. They knew their friends and familiy well enough that they would never turn them in, but they might not want to be involved in their lives anymore. It was a risk they had to take. So they’d decided to break the news to Lestrade and Dr. Watson first and then tell their parents when they came home for Christmas.  
His phone beeped in his pocket.

This case is just a 4.  
Been away for three months and all they give me is a lousy 4.  
Deduced murderer after ten minutes. Boring.  
Invited Lestrade, John and Mrs. H for dinner tonight.  
Fumo, Covent Garden. 18 pm. This is it.  
Love you, lover mine  
XO SH

Mycroft’s heart beat loudly inside his chest. Having been together every day for the past months they had never texted one another, not after engaging in their relationship. It was new, exciting.

I’ll find you a 10 when I get to work.  
Telling Anthea in the car. Safety reasons.  
See you tonight.  
Love you  
MH (I will never in my life type xo in a text.)

You just typed xo, lover mine  
xo

I will not participate in demeaning our language.  
Hugs and kisses (all over your body, in places the sun do not shine)  
MH

You are so dirty, brother  
All the things I’d do if you were here now  
Can’t wait until I see you again  
Xo xo xo xo xo xo xo xo

Love you, brother mine  
MH

The car arrived and the few texts he’d sent with his brother had already planted themselves in his groin. He tried to think about tories, mucus and people with sweatshirts, and finally the erection died down. He exhaled with triumph and left to meet Anthea.

She greeted him with a large, genuine beam.  
«You been missed, Mycroft. We almost lost Scotland because of your absence.»  
«Nothing you couldn’t handle, I’m sure.»  
Mycroft cared for his PA and felt unsure as to how she would react of the news he was about to break to her. But he needed her to know this, as it would be impossible to hide it from her. She had access to all his computers, e-mails and phones - except the one private phone he reserved for Sherlock and his parents.  
The car drove off. Anthea was jabbing away about today’s meetings with the prime minister of Sweden, some ambassador’s and a meeting with diplomat Rivera.  
«Oh. Yes. About that.»  
«I know who he is.» Anthea replied.  
«Oh. I see.» Mycroft felt embarrassed already. He had always managed to maintain his figure, the whole steady concept of Mycroft Holmes, in front of others. Now Anthea had to notice he was shaking slightly.  
«Sir, you don’t have to.. Forget I said anything. My apologies, sir.»  
«Nothing to apologise. Since you know who he is, you probably understand that his expertise is also the reason I’m meeting with him.»  
She didn’t answer him, she probably understood that he was going to continue on his own accord anyway.  
«The reason I’m meeting with him is that over the course of time I have developed feelings for someone who a lot of people will find inapproperiate. I’m telling you this because you will figure it out sooner or later, and I want you to have all information so that you can do your job. Also, I don’t want to lie to you, because I genuinely care about you.»  
She smiled. He could see that she was nervous. He understood why. If she’d researched Dr Rivera she would know that he treated people with all kinds of weird sexual orientetions.  
«Anyway.» Mycroft’s mouth was dry. This was really difficult. «You are free to leave my office and this job if you are not comfortable with this. I will make sure you get a job on the same level.»  
«Sir, you’re scaring me.»  
«I’m sorry. Well, the thing is. I’ve... God. I’m happy for the first time in my life, Anthea. This is also the reason I’ve taken leave. To live in this happiness for a little while. And the reason is that I’m now involved in a romantic relationship with Sherlock.»  
«Oh thank god...» Anthea blurted out.  
«What?»  
«Sorry sir, I’m sorry. My mind thought about all kinds of weird and crazy things. This Rivera person has treated people who are into amputated limbs and god knows what.»  
Mycroft almost had to laugh at her expression. It was one of shock, relief and questions.  
«So?»  
«Sir, I’ve worked with you for more than ten years. Do you know why? You can be a pain in my arse sometimes, but still I work for you. Because you are the most complex and interesting individual I’ve met my entire life. The only person I’ve met who is remotely similar is your crazy little brother. Yes, it’s weird, sorry, it’s very weird that you are sleeping with him, but you being involved sexually with anyone is weird, because to me you are above the rest of us. As if you belong in another world. God-like sort of. Greek gods, you know. Jesus, I’m rambling.»  
Mycroft looked at her with amusement. Could he wish for a better PA than her?  
«Liza? Just this once I’m going to call you by your real name and I’m going to do something that you will never see me do again and you will not use against me, are we clear?»  
«Yes, sir.»  
Mycroft unbuckled his belt, leaned over to her and hugged her. And for some strange reason the hug felt nice, even though he hated touching other human beings. The hug broke, she smiled at him and he sat back in his own seat.  
«Now, Anthea, I want to move the meeting with the ambassador from Ghana up an hour so that I have time to greet the Queen again. And tell the ambassador that if he wants to set his foot in this country ever again he is not to be late.»  
«Yes, sir.»

***

Mycroft walked the crowded streets of Covent Garden, feeling nervous. The clock had passed six, he wanted to make sure that he showed up last so that he wouldn’t have to engage in smalltalk and reveal how nervous he actually was. The meeting with Dr. Rivera had been a good one. He had told him about resent developments and asked what the doctor thought about telling people. The doctor encouraged them to keep it to their inner circle if such one existed. Speaking with the doctor had completely changed Mycroft’s view on this, he no longer felt ashamed, because he knew that even though other people found it wrong, it wasn’t wrong at all. It was only love. Mycroft had paid Dr. Rivera enough money for him to retire on, hoping he would understand how much he’d helped him.  
The restaurant was a few buildings away and as Mycroft approached he sent a text to his brother.

Nearly there, brother dear  
No matter how this goes it will always be you and me  
Love MH

Love you  
xo

Sherlock’s short reply revealed how nervous he was. Mycroft understood why. His presence tonight was merely to support his brother, his fiancée. He didn’t care much about either of those people, even though he’d grown fonder of both Mrs. Hudson and DI Lestrade the past year. He entered the restaurant. If was crowded and with way too many waiters. Mycroft spottet his party in the corner of the room. Sherlock sat next to Mrs. Hudson and the two men were seated next to one another, already drinking wine and enjoying their time.  
«Good evening.» Mycroft said in his usual detached tone.  
«Mycroft!» Lestrade said, stood up to shake his hand.  
«Mycroft, sweet boy.» Mrs. Hudson said and gave him a hug. He saw how John reacted at his landlandy’s sudden positive apporach to him.  
«What are you doing here?» John asked, not hostile, but not too friendly either.  
«I was invited.» Mycroft replied and placed himself at the end of the table, Sherlock to his left and John to his right.  
Mycroft helped himself to a glass of wine from one of the bottles they had ordered. A waiter took their order and soon the chatting was floating freely around the table. Mrs. Hudson glanced at him from time to time, smiling, and he smiled back. Sherlock and Mycroft barely looked at eachother, but Mycroft nudged him underneath the table, showing him that he was not in this alone. Everytime their knees touched, lightening shot through him. He belonged in his brother’s proximity, despite what anyone might think about it.  
After the food had arrived and they had eaten and drunk plenty, Sherlock looked into Mycroft’s eyes. Mycroft nodded slowly back.  
«This is very nice.» Sherlock said to the tiny crowd. «There is a reason I called you here tonight. You are the people I care about the most.»  
They all went silent. They understood that something serious was about to hit them.  
«I’ve lived my life in solitude. There have been drugs and lots of pain. Then John entered my life and he saved me. He saved a part of me. He tought me to open up and care. For that I will be grateful forever, John.» Sherlock said and raised his glass to his best friend. Mycroft could tell that John appreciated it.  
«But even having John in my life, solving cases for you Lestrade and drinking tea in your kitchen, Mrs. Hudson, it doesn’t change the fact that I have been alone in the way that probably matters the most. I know that I’ve been the joke of the group regarding my absent sexlife and my lack in persuing romance. But there has been a reason for this and until recently I thought this reason would keep me from ever being able to find happiness.»  
The crowd was silent, they stared at him with wonder, Mycroft could tell. He felt proud of his little brother. Mrs. Hudson placed her hand over Sherlock’s to help him further. Mycroft appreciated the tiny gesture as it was too soon for him to do the same, no matter how much he wanted to.  
«But I have found happiness now. I didn’t think it would be possible, as certain circumstances prevent it. But I’ve loved this man for many years...»  
«Wait. What? Man? You’re gay?» John blurted out.  
«Oh come on, John. How can you not know that? He’s been with at least three of the guys at Scotland Yard» Lestrade said. Mycroft shifted annoyed in his chair. Of course he knew this, but it bothered him. Not that his lover had been with others, but that he had been with others believing he couldn’t have the one he really wanted. They had lost so much time.  
«I... I didn’t know.» John answered.  
«I told you on our first night at Angelo’s that women aren’t my area.» Sherlock said calmly.  
«Yes, but I thought you meant that... I mean... That you weren’t into dating. Christ, I’ve walked around naked!»  
«Yes, I have no interest in your naked body, John, believe me.»  
They all laughed, John even. Mycroft, however, was uncomfortable.  
«I really hope my sexuality doesn’t bother you, John. But I have finally, after years of longing and believing I was alone in sharing these feelings I’m harbouring I have came to know that the man I love actually loves me back in the same way.»  
No one spoke. Mycroft saw Mrs. Hudson tear up as she looked at them. John and Lestrade were too focused on Sherlock to even notice how pale Mycroft was.  
Sherlock smiled that little, genuine smile that hid his teeth, but revealed the wrinkles in his face. His features were so beautiful, Mycroft practically melted right there.  
«Who is it then?» Lestrade asked, clearly excited to hear these news.  
«No matter how you react upon this I hope you will remember that I’m happy. For the first time in my life. Remember that, alright? ... The man I love and am committed to, is-» and Sherlock took Mycroft’s hand and gave it a tiny kiss. Mycroft smiled at this little gesture, felt warmth spread inside him.  
«Mycroft.» Sherlock finished, visibly exhaling what must have been a great amount of nervousness. It was finally out in the open. They had said it. Mrs. Hudson just smiled at them. Lestrade was shocked, he looked from Mycroft to Sherlock and back again, presumably not knowing what to say. And Dr. Watson... He looked angry.  
«Are you kidding me?» John said, obviously struggling to contain himself.  
«No.» Sherlock replied. He didn’t let go of Mycroft’s hand, he held on tighter and Mycroft squeezed back, assuring him that he was not alone.  
«I learn today that you are gay and seconds later you tell me you’re having sex with your brother?! That’s fucked up, Sherlock, even for you!»  
Sherlock didn’t reply. He sat frozen, deeply hurt by the words, Mycroft could tell. And just as he was about to give this annoying little midget of a doctor a handful, Mrs. Hudson came to their aid.  
«Stop acting like a petulant brat, John Watson, I will not have it.» she said calmly, but strict. Lestrade looked as if the moon had fallen.  
«These two have been loving each other in solitude for ages, felt alone and miserable. You know how that is. I know how that is. Mr. Divorced over there certainly knows how that is. It can destroy you. Solitude eats you alive, John Watson, and either you come to terms with this and support your best friend in his choice, or you can find another place to live.» She then looked at Mycroft and Sherlock and addressed them together:  
«As you know, I have known this for a long time. And I’ve never seen either of you more happy. You have my support, Holmes-brothers.»  
And Lestrade shipped in:  
«Guys, you’re a special pair of dudes, your brains are like superpower, combining those minds, well it kind of freaks me out. I get it, I’m gonna need a couple of days, neh, let’s say a couple of glasses of something a bit stronger than this redwine - and I’ll come around. I mean, you know it’s shocking, but at the same time, you’re very weird both of you and I really like you for being so weird so... I guess.. Congrats. And John, get that stick out from your arse.»  
He raised his hand and waved for a waiter and asked to be brought two glasses of cosmopolitan.  
«Are you sure you’re not gay too, ordering cosmos, detective?» asked Mrs. Hudson and they all laughed.  
«Nope, total boob guy! Cheers!»  
Mycroft felt partly relieved that it had went as it went, except for Dr. Watson’s reaction. He wondered if he was more bothered by the fact that Sherlock had turned out to be homosexual rather than being with his brother. John sat there in silence and watched the others raise their glasses. He then got up, gathered his things and readied himself to leave.  
«I have to go... Babysitter.» he said and then he was gone.  
«Prick.» Mrs. Hudson said and Mycroft couldn’t agree more.

***

Sherlock and Mycroft were sitting next to one another in the back of Mycroft’s car. Mrs. Hudson had been granted Anthea’s usual seat. Sherlock rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder.  
«I’ve never seen you this calm, Sherlock. I find it very lovely.» Mrs. Hudson said.  
«How come you are so easy about this?» Mycroft asked her.  
«Who am I to judge anyone? I married a drug dealer, then I dated married guys, and some more and who are you harming anyway? And who in the bloody name of hell is John to judge? He married an assassin. So in my books this right here is nothing but lovely.»  
«Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.» Mycroft said knowing that he spoke for both himself and his lover.

The car turned a corner and drove down Baker Street until it reached 221B. Sherlock helped Mrs. Hudson out and Mycroft followed behind. The lights were on so John had gone home then.  
«Thank you dears. John will come around. He always does. He might be in love with you, you know.» she added addressing Sherlock.  
«What?»  
«Well, I’m no prophet, but I’m right in almost everything, a bit like you two. Good night, and thank you for a lovely dinner.» she said, gave them a hug and disappeared into her appartment.  
«You think he’s in love with me?» Sherlock asked puzzled.  
«I have no idea. What if he is? Will it change things between us?» Mycroft asked, suddenly alarmed at the idea that his brother would choose Dr. Watson over him.  
«One more word and I will call Anthea and tell her you are no longer suited for your job as your brain appearently can’t remember simple pieces of information.» Sherlock said, half annoyed, half friendly.  
«Never doubt that I love you, big brother. Or I’ll punish you. Profoundly.» The dark barytone of his little brother sent bolt of joy straight through his lower part of the body. He was so sexy, in every possible way.  
«I just find you so breathtakingly stunning, beautiful, smart, sexy. I still sometimes can’t wrap my head around the fact that you have chosen me.» Mycroft said. Behind them the cars and pedestrians of Baker Street sang their familiar tunes, but the brothers had never been here together. Not like this.  
«Big brother. All those qualities you see in me. I see them in you too. You take my breath away every day.» He leaned in and kissed him. Deeply. They didn’t care if someone saw them. Who would care anyway? Mycroft was a man who lurked in the shadows.  
The kiss lasted for a minute, their bodies were tight pressed up against one another. Two large erections grew behind tight trousers.  
«I need you tonight. Come upstairs with me, brother mine.» Sherlock whispered in the low hoarse tone that almost made Mycroft come right there.  
«What about your flatmate and his daughter?»  
«I don’t care. I need you.»  
«I’m game.» Mycroft said and felt a little creepy joy spread inside him, knowing that his presence would annoy the hell out of John Watson.

John was nowhere to be seen, he was probably upstairs in his room. Good. They kissed with fierce, ripped off each other’s coats and jackets, grasping at each other all the way from the livingroom and down into Sherlock’s bedroom. They panted into each other’s mouths, felt the friction of their erections build up expectations of release.  
«I want you inside me, little brother.» Mycroft said, panting. «No more foreplay. Just you. Now.»  
Sherlock obliged. He pushed Mycroft down on the bed, where Mycroft unbuttoned his shirt. Sherlock stood before him, tall, handsome, god-like and slowly unbuttoned his own. He was so sexy. Mycroft’s cock throbbed at the sight. Sherlock bent forward and removed Mycroft’s trousers, then his boxers.  
«My oh my, brother mine. That erection is one for the books.»  
«Take me now.» Mycroft pleaded and Sherlock let his own trousers and boxers slip to the floor. His cock was like a spear and Mycroft was so ready to be penetrated by it. Sherlock reached for the lube on his nightstand and washed his cock with it.  
«No foreplay, you say?» Sherlock asked, but Mycroft couldn’t wait. He knew it might hurt a little, but he was so ready to feel everything.  
«Sherlock, every aspect of my job is about control. I need to lose it sometimes. Take control, brother mine.»  
And Sherlock did.  
He placed himself on top of Mycroft, bent his legs and let his spear soar into him with mighty force.  
Mycroft let out a loud cry, it was painful, but it was a lovely pain. His entire body craved this, and he felt the large cock of his brother pulsate within him. Sherlock started moving slowly back and forth and it was as if his insides were burning with lust. His prostate sent out jolts of pleasure at each thrust and Mycroft was incapable of withholdning any sounds. He moaned loudly, was so hard he was dripping and as Sherlock picked up speed he felt the orgasm build up within him. The friction of Sherlock’s belly on his own penis increased with the penetrating speed and suddenly the orgasm was there and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He screamed out in pleasure as his arsehole pulsated around Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock moaned in unison, Mycroft felt the fluids of his brother being emptied inside him, as his own cock shot out projectile after projectile. It seemed to last forever. And finally his body relaxed. Sherlock crashed down on top of him and they lay there, panting, in several minutes before Sherlock rolled off him.  
«Christ sake, brother mine. That was...»  
«Yeah. Insane.»  
Sherlock sat up and was about to get out of bed, but had his foot stuck in the sheet which made him fall forwards head first. The fall made him laugh hysterically and the laughter was a sound which made Mycroft’s insides burst with pride and joy for the fact that the laugh belonged to his loved one. It was a laughter more contagious than any virus and Mycroft startet laughing too. They laughed in what felt like a lifetime.  
«I need a shower. Wanna join me?» Sherlock said after the laughter had faded. Still smiling, Mycroft nodded and got out of bed too. They entered the bathroom to find John Watson sitting on the floor.  
«For christ’s sake, John!» Sherlock cried. They were both naked and Mycroft grabbed a towel to cover themselves up as best as they good.  
«What are you doing here?!»  
«I live here.» John replied, not knowing where to look. Mycroft had noticed how his gaze had lingered at their penises.  
«I thought you were sleeping.»  
«No, I’ve been here.»  
«Why?»  
«I heard you came home. Then I thought, it can’t be real, the two of you together. So I wanted to see that it was true, see if you were really this... this...»  
«This what?» Sherlock asked. Mycroft could hear the pain in his voice and decided to stop the forthcoming catastrophe.  
«I advise you to be very careful with your next choice of words, Dr. Watson.» he said in his most dangerous voice. He saw that it was working.  
«I...» John stuttered.  
«You what?»  
«I see why he chose you, there’s no way I could compete with that.» John said and waved his hand at Mycroft’s covered up penis.  
«John!» Sherlock said in shock.  
«Yes, Dr. Watson. I have an impressively sized penis, if this is the level on which we are placing this conversation. I do not, however, have an impressively sized patience. As for your part, it’s wearing quite thin. So I suggest that you use the little deductive skills you possess and gather data from the audio-show you’ve obviously been listening to through this bathroom door and use the conclusion to form words that is neither rude, imbesile nor hostile. Sherlock and I are going to have a shower now. You, Dr. Watson, are going to sit in the chair in the livingroom until we are finished and then we will converse like grown-ups.» Mycroft finished. God, that felt good. The terrorized look on John’s face was priceless. Sherlock smiled at him, a smile that inaudibly thanked him for taking the reigns on the situation.  
«Do it.» Sherlock said to John and the latter rose from the bathroom floor.  
«Thank you.» Sherlock whispered and together they climbed into the shower.  
«Do you know how sexy you are when you do those power demonstrations, brother love?» Sherlock asked and Mycroft saw that his brother once again supported an impressive erection.  
«I want you to fuck me in this shower like you’re demonstrating that power on me. You have no idea how much a turn on that is, Mycroft.»  
Sherlock turned around and flashed his gorgeous behind. Mycroft felt his cock swell and he used a finger to open up Sherlock’s hole to make the invasion as pleasant as possible. Then he positioned himself behind him and drove his penis right into the sacred deep place of his brother. Sherlock moaned, so loud it had to be heard over the sounds from the shower.  
Mycroft found it so arousing. He pounded gently into him, feeling his balls hit Sherlock’s buttocks.  
«Harder, brother.» Sherlock pleaded and Mycroft pounded with the force of MI5 and MI6 combined. It didn’t take long before they both were ready to climax and as Mycroft felt his orgasm build up he truly knew that he was the luckiest man alive.  
«Ahhh, Sherlock!!» he screamed as he shot several doses of cum into his brother’s arse. Sherlock came the moment after with a little help from Mycroft’s right hand. Panting, for the second time this evening, they tried to finish showering, kissing eachother, touching eachother and showing eachother affection in every move and look. Mycroft washed his brother’s hair and back and Sherlock returned the favour.  
«Not much hair to wash though.» Mycroft said.  
«I’ll braid you later.» Sherlock replied and they laughed again.

John sat in the chair, waiting for them as he had been told. Mycroft had borrowed Sherlock’s blue morning gown and Sherlock was wearing his beige one. They placed themselves in the sofa, Sherlock placed his arm behind Mycroft.  
«I get it.» John said, not looking at either of them.  
«I get it all right. I hate it at the same time. But I get what you wanted to say. I heard you. You sound happy. Both of you. You’re having... sex... you’re laughing. I get it. And I think that... never mind.»  
«I urge you to finish these well composed sentences, Dr. Watson.»  
«What I’m saying is that I think... fuck... Sherlock... I would’ve reacted the same way if you were dating someone else, ok. Lestrade or... Whomever. I think I’m actually more shocked about the gay thing than the brother thing.»  
Sherlock got up from the sofa and sat down in the chair opposite John.  
«Why though, John? What has changed? I’m still me, a bit less sulkier, but you know. It’s not 1935. Homosexuality is ok. It kind of hurts me that you believe it’s not.»  
«Oh god, no Sherlock, no. It’s... Fuck! I can’t. I’m not homophobic. In any way. Seriously.»  
«Then what is it?» Sherlock asked quite annoyed now. Mycroft felt a flash of pity for the pathetic doctor who struggled with finding words in this difficult topic. He decided to help him.  
«He’s trying to say that he is in love with you, and the fact that you have always been homosexual makes him believe he could have had a chance with you.» Deductions about other people were boring. They were all so text book. John Watson was a text book case. But Mycroft was right. John let his head drop and Sherlock got up from the chair.  
«I need a cigarette. I’ll be outside.» And he left. Once again, Mycroft had to save the situation.  
«Listen, Dr.... Listen, John.» he said, got up and placed himself on the arm of Sherlock’s chair, making sure that his morning gown covered his private parts.  
«I know how you feel. But this changes nothing. Sherlock’s loved me for ages and I’ve loved him for ages, and do you know what it does to you, loving someone you think or know that you can’t have? It eats you alive. It’s like a virus, killing you slowly from within. I want to give you a telephone number. It’s for a man named Dr. Andrew Rivera. He’s a therapist, dealing with people who have deviating sexual fantasies. He can help you get past this. Because, John, if what you feel doesn’t hurt anyone, act on those feelings. But this does hurt you. I can see your pain clearly. And I feel my brother’s, because he loves you, as a friend. And I believe that being in each other’s life is good for the both of you. But not if you cannot rid yourself of these feelings that you harbour. It won’t be healthy for you. So please, call Dr. Rivera. Ask him to help you.»  
John looked up at Mycroft, it truly was a mess to witness.  
«Take care of him, all right?»  
«Oh Dr, Watson, I’ve been taking care of him long before you even entered the picture. Taking care of Sherlock is my sole purpose.»

***

«Have you spoken to him yet?» Mycroft asked his partner as he drove the car along the sandy road that would take them to their parents house.  
«He sent a text, saying he would come to Christmas celebration at Mummy’s, bring Rosie and stuff. But nothing more.»  
Sherlock had lived with Mycroft the last two months, so that John could get some time to himself to figure out what he wanted to do. Sherlock had taken cases from Lestrade without involving John.  
«It’ll be fine.» Mycroft said as the car turned into the driveway in front of Mummy’s and Father’s house.  
«Famous last words. Have you forgotten that we’re about to tell our parents about us?»  
«No, I haven’t forgotten, I’ve been shaking like a carrot in a blender.»  
And he really was afraid. Getting their parents’ approval in life wasn’t unimportant to him. Especially after having being told off by them after the Eurus incident he had been tiptoeing around them.  
«Into battle.» Sherlock said and they exited the car.  
Mycroft gave his lover a quick kiss on the lips and Sherlock responded by caressing his chin.  
They walked up towards the house and rang the bell. Mummy and Father opened the door together.  
«Boys!» she cried and gave them both a hug. «Welcome! How nice you both look. Are you smiling at me? My oh my, I thought it would snow in hell before I was smiled at by you two at the same time. Come on, come in!»  
They entered and greeted their father.  
«I’ve made up your rooms, so if you will install yourselves, dinner is ready soon. John will be here tomorrow, yes?»  
«Yes.» Sherlock said and Mycroft saw that he was just as scared as he was.  
«We’ll be with you shortly.» Mycroft said and lead the way upstairs. He turned right when he reached the top, knowing Sherlock would turn left and head to his own room.  
The room was light, but gloomy, just as it had been throughout his childhood. Mummy had made the bed with dark blue sheets. He stood there for a moment, wondering if this was it. Would this be the last time he would spend inside this room? How would his parents react? He noticed that he was still shaking.  
«... like a carrot in a blender.» said a voice behind him and Sherlock stood in the doorway, looking impeccable as always.  
«Close the door, brother mine.» Mycroft said. Sherlock came in.  
«I always wanted to have your room.» Sherlock said, looking around.  
«Why?»  
«Because I liked the way it smelled. It smelled safe.»  
«Safe?»  
«Like you.»  
Sherlock placed his hands around Mycroft’s waist.  
«I know what you’re thinking.» he continued. «And don’t worry. No matter how they take it, we will have each other. You have changed me, brother mine. You make me happier than I’ve ever been. Yes, if our parents don’t approve, you will feel grief, you will feel loss, but I will share that with you and we will help each other through it. All right, lover?»  
Sherlock was right. They made eachother better. Having him here, being held by him like this, really made him feel safer.  
«Yes. With you, everything is possible.»  
They stood like this for a couple of minutes until Sherlock broke the hug.  
«Let’s go downstairs, shall we?»

When they came down it smelled like heaven. Mummy’s Christmas dinner was one for the books.  
«It smells really nice in here.» Mycroft said, smiling at Mummy. She beamed back. When he came to think about it he’d never actually complimented her for her cooking, no matter how much he adored it. Yes, he’d been polite, but not investing in his words to her. If she would give him the chance, he would change that.  
They sat down. Father was silent, but cheerful. Sherlock was silent, but calm. Mother was chatting away and Mycroft tried to talk away the big rock that had taken up half his stomach. Mummy served them large portions, but despite the lovely smell and the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, Mycroft couldn’t eat. It was exactly like the days and weeks before he finally spoke with Sherlock about his feelings. He hadn’t eaten much then either. Sherlock, who was seated next to him, did not touch his food. Mycroft leaned over to him and whispered into his ear:  
«Have you changed your mind?»  
«About what?» Sherlock mimicked with his mouth.  
«Telling them.»  
Then someone else joined the secret conversation.  
«What are you two whispering about? And why aren’t you eating?»  
Mycroft coughed for attention and looked straight at Mummy, shifting between her and Father.  
«Mummy. Father. There is something Sherlock and I need to tell you. It is of great difficulty I say this to you, and I beg you both, for Sherlock and for me, despite all the mistakes we’ve made in the past, that you support us in what I’m about to say... Mummy. Father...»  
His heart was beating so fast he might have another panic attack, but as he was about to speak again he was cut off, not by Sherlock, but by his mother.  
«You don’t have to say anything, my son. We know.»  
Mycroft couldn’t believe his own ears, and neither could Sherlock appearently.  
«We know. We knew something had changed months ago, with both of you calling and texting more frequently than before. Then I saw you kiss outside when you arrived today and all the pieces finally fit. And... please don’t be mad, but I followed you upstairs and I listened through the door, and your words to one another. My boys.»  
Mycroft couldn’t hold back any longer. The big rock in his stomach dissolved itself and turned into small drops of tears that flooded out of his eyes. There was no way of stopping it. He cried like a small child. All of the worry was gone and his parents accepted them. Sherlock didn’t cry, but patted Mycroft on the back with gentle fingers.  
«We’re actually engaged.» Sherlock said with a grin. «We know we can’t get married for real, but we wanted to commit for real. So. Yey. Surprise.»  
«Now that’s something I thought I’d never hear you say.» Father said and smiled akwardly.  
«Perhaps it’s a good thing we can’t anyway, imagine the fight over which one of us should be walked down the aisle by whom. It would have been disasterous.»  
Mycroft saw the big grin on Sherlock’s face and he couldn’t help but smile back. Blinded with pathetic tears and his brother’s calmness, Mycroft Holmes once again felt the need to laugh. And his laugh was contagious.

As presents were about to be exchanged the next day the doorbell rang.  
«Oh, that must be John and Rosie.» Mummy said and got up to open the door. Mycroft was sitting at the end of the sofa, a glass of whisky in his hand. Sherlock was resting with his head upon Mycroft’s shoulder. A few minutes later Mummy entered the livingroom carrying Rosie in her arms, followed by John and... Dr. Andrew Rivera. Both Mycroft and Sherlock were shocked, but remained silent so that John himself could do the introduction.  
«Hi everyone. This is Andrew. He’s my boyfriend.»  
«Hi Andrew! Welcome to our house.» Father said. Andrew shook the hands of both Sherlock and Mycroft as if Mycroft and him had never met before. John walked over to Mycroft and whispered in his ear:  
«Thanks. He really did make me forget about Sherlock. He’s a miracle worker.»  
«Any time, Dr. Watson.» Mycroft replied and then it was time to open presents. Sherlock had sunk back onto Mycroft’s shoulders and Mycroft caressed his ear with his free hand. Rosie was so happy for all the gifts she’d recieved and when Mummy and Father opened the gift from Sherlock and Mycroft they almost screamed in joy: It was a winetasting trip around Europe for both them and their sons.  
«Thank you, my sweet sons. I... I know that the tools with which you have been born haven’t made it easy for neither of you. Yes, you are probably more clever than the rest of our country combined, but I know how lonely that can feel like. The happiness I see in you two now is so present I can almost touch it. Last Christmas I wished for my sons to find happiness. I would never have believed that you would find it with each other. And even though we still need to get used to the idea, we want you to always be yourselves in this house.»  
She gave them both a kiss on the cheek. Everything was good. Almost everything. Sherlock was eyeing John, they hadn’t spoken yet.  
«Mr. Rivera, why don’t you join me in the kitchen so that we can find something to pour in our glasses?» Mycroft said and got up from the comfortable spot he shared with Sherlock.  
«Yes, of course. And it’s Andrew.»  
«And Mummy and Father, why don’t you let Rosie play with her new toy outside?»  
They took the obvious hint.  
Luckily it was easy to hear the conversation in the livingroom from the kichen. John and Sherlock were now seated next to one another, Mycroft had ensured that by removing Dr. Rivera.  
«Everything is all right, I see?» Dr. Rivera said.  
«You desevere a lot of credit for the outcome of these... events.» Mycroft said in a low voice.  
«Well, I should be thanking you too. You sent John my way. Fell for him the moment he opened his mouth, the git.»  
«He’s an honorable man. Don’t tell him I said that.»  
Mycroft ordered Dr. Rivera to find two bottles of redwine in the room next to the kitchen and now he could listen to the conversation.  
«So. Not so not-gay after all then?» Sherlock said. Mycroft heard that his tone was sharp.  
«Yeah, well, yeah. He’s really fantastic. And listen, Sherlock. I’m so sorry for the pain I caused you. I was a prick. A prick in love, but prick nonetheless. I’ve gotten over you. It’s in the past and Andrew is here in the present and I really like him, Rosie likes him. I just want us to be friends again. Hunt bad guys, hang out... Old days, you know.»  
«Let me think about it. All right?»  
«Fine. Sure. But please. Come around.»  
Andrew came back with the wine. Mycroft thanked him and together they entered the livingroom. Mycroft poured wine into empty glasses and asked the four of them for a toast. As they were about to raise their glasses Sherlock’s phone rang.  
«Yes?»  
«Okay.»  
«I’m a bit slushed.»  
«Okay. Preserve it then.»  
He hung up.  
«John, there’s been a murder in London Zoo, someone believes that the penguins have been administered a dangerous drug so that they can attack strangers and kill them. This is most certainly a 10. Are you with me?»  
«Hell yeah!»  
«Tomorrow though. Today we celebrate Christmas.» And the four soon-to-be best friends raised their glasses in a grand toast. Mycroft kissed Sherlock deeply.  
«I love you, brother mine.»  
«I love you too, brother mine.»  
It was the best Christmas ever.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language.


End file.
